


No Miracles Here

by GotTheSilver



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Compliant, Domestic, Getting Together, Idiots in Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-18
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-08-15 20:39:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8071960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GotTheSilver/pseuds/GotTheSilver
Summary: Dean’s up to his elbows in suds, and he’s trying real hard not to listen to the conversation Cas is having with Mary because—it’s not that Dean—shaking his head, Dean scrubs harder at the grill pan.

  “—want to meet anyone, Cas?” Mary asks as she dries a plate.

  “I’m happy here,” Cas says, and Dean tries not to smile down at the suds at those words.

  “The girl in the coffee shop liked you,” Mary says and, wait, what.  Dean’s hands still without even thinking about it and he glances to his left, watching Cas’ face.





	

**Author's Note:**

> title from Bruce Springsteen - Human Touch.
> 
> fic post on [tumblr](http://motleywolf.tumblr.com/post/150607136537/new-fic-no-miracles-here-deancas)!

Mary’s been back with them just over a month now, and it’s getting a little less weird every day. Sure, there’s moments when Dean stops in the middle of a sentence and can’t quite believe she’s there—and Sam does the same—but in the grand scheme of how fucking strange their lives have been, their mom being back from the dead barely scrapes into the top five.

She’s as sharp as a goddamn tack when it comes to hunting, and Dean can’t help but be impressed when they take her down to the gun range in the bunker and she hits every shot perfectly. Cas’ eyes widen a little, and Dean guesses he’s thinking of his first meeting with Mary which, okay, could’ve gone better. Dean can’t blame his mom for thinking the worst when they realised Sam was gone, but it’s _Cas_ ; Dean hadn’t known how the hell to explain who Cas was to them, settled for saying he was family. Mary had blinked in disbelief, but all Dean had been able to see was the way Cas’ shoulders had relaxed at those words because, fuck, did Cas really think that Dean would’ve let Mary shoot him?

“Dean?”

Dean pulls himself out of his thoughts and looks over at his mom. “Yeah?”

“Don’t you think it’s a good idea?”

Looking between Cas and his mom, Dean raises an eyebrow. “Do I think what is a good idea?”

“Teaching Cas to shoot.”

“What does Cas need to shoot for?” Dean asks. “He’s all powered up again—”

“I’m not a battery, Dean,” Cas interrupts. “I think—I’d like to get better with guns. With what’s happened to me in the past, I can’t guarantee that I’ll always have my grace. I should be prepared.”

Dean narrows his eyes. “You think I wouldn’t be there for you? That Sam and I wouldn’t protect you?” There’s a sad look in Cas’ eyes as he he turns away from Dean, and Dean—he gets it. He does. “Cas,” he says, voice softer. “Things are different now, I wouldn’t do that to you again.”

“Still,” Cas says, the look in his eyes not going away. “I think I’d like Mary to teach me.”

It stings that Cas would take up Mary’s offer over how many times Dean’s offered to teach him, Dean isn’t going to deny that, but if that’s what Cas wants, Dean isn’t going to stand in his way. “Okay,” he says, voice slightly strained. “Mom can teach you how to shoot.”

*

A week later, they’re back from a hunt and Dean’s rummaging through his duffel in the laundry room, throwing things in the machine. Sam walks in with a pile of laundry in his arms and Dean looks up. “I got here first,” he says quickly.

Sam huffs out a laugh and leans against the doorframe. “Where’s Cas?”

“He and mom went shopping.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, they left a note on the fridge and Cas sent me a text.” Dean sniffs a red plaid shirt and wrinkles his nose before stuffing it in the machine. “They’ve been spending a lot of time together,” he says, looking over at Sam.

“Makes sense, I guess,” Sam says with a slight shrug, stepping into the room. “They’re both still adjusting to the world, and Cas knows what it’s like to feel lost.”

“Yeah, but—”

“What?”

Dean shrugs, not entirely sure how to put what he’s feeling into words. “Nothing.” He stands up and grabs his duffel. “There’s room in there for your crap, if you want.”

“You okay?”

“Tired, Sam, that’s it. Gonna grab some sleep before mom and Cas get back.”

“Okay,” Sam calls after him as Dean leaves the laundry room.

Stopping outside his room, Dean scrubs a hand over his face and sighs heavily before pushing the door open. Dropping his bag on the floor, he closes the door behind him and, on autopilot, strips down to his boxers and crawls under the covers, exhaustion taking over as he slips into sleep.

Dean’s woken up by a light knock on the door, and he grunts, rolling over. “Yeah?” he calls, voice rough with sleep. His mom pushes open the door, walking into the room, and Dean sits up, a small smile on his face as he greets her. “Hey mom.”

“Hey kiddo,” she says with an easy smile. “Cas and I made dinner, burgers, if you want.”

“Hell yeah I want,” he says. “Gimme five.”

Mary nods, brushing her hand over his hair, and it hits Dean in the gut like he’s three years old again; before he can say anything, she’s gone, closing the door behind her. Dean stays still for a moment, before getting out of bed, quickly pulling on a pair of sweatpants and an old Sabbath t-shirt.

*

The smell draws him to the kitchen, and when he walks in, he finds Cas laughing at something his mom has said, and it’s another goddamn hit to the gut, only this time it’s not nostalgia, it’s something Dean isn’t sure he has a name for yet. He knows what he wants to call it, but he’s not sure if he’s brave enough to. Pausing in the doorway, Dean takes in the scene before him; it’s been a long time since he’s seen Cas laugh like that, and it’s making his chest ache, wondering when exactly they all lost the ability to live like normal people.

“Dean,” Cas says, spotting him in the doorway. “We made burgers.”

“I heard,” Dean says, pushing himself off the doorframe and walking in. “They smell good.”

“Sam’s setting the table,” Mary says. “So you’ve got dish duty.”

“What about Cas?” Dean protests, his brow furrowing as he looks around the kitchen.

“Cas helped with the cooking.”

“I toasted the buns,” Cas says, looking inordinately proud of himself.

Dean shoots a look at his mom. “That gets him out of dish duty? Really?”

Mary plates the last burger and turns around, her hands on her hips. “If it makes you feel better, Cas and I will help dry them.”

“It does, actually,” Dean says, leaning down and kissing his mom’s cheek. “Thanks for making dinner,” he says.

“Sure,” she says, a wry smile on her face. “Come on, help get everything to the table.”

Dean sometimes wonders if his younger self would believe how goddamn domestic his life now is; he’s willing to bet what little money he has that the younger version of himself would laugh in his face, he barely believes it as he’s living it. He used to dream of family dinners as a kid, when he’d be stretching out a tin of no flavour beans for him and Sammy, hoping that his dad would get back from a hunt before he had to find other ways of getting food. Dean sits down next to Cas and looks around slowly, taking in the spread on the table and the care Sam’s taken over the place settings, seeing his mom across the table, sitting next to Sam, as if they’re something like a real family is almost too much for him to handle.

“So,” Mary says as she pushes the salad bowl towards Dean, who wrinkles his nose in response but takes it anyway. “Neither of you look too beaten up after the hunt.”

“Is it wrong if I say salt and burns are easy now?” Sam says, loading his plate up with two burgers, putting an ungodly amount of green stuff on them. “After everything we’ve faced, it’s kind of comforting to just deal with a regular ghost.”

A look crosses Mary’s face and Dean concentrates on putting his burger together, not wanting to bring back the argument they had when she first got here. Dean gets it, he does, he’s not likely to have kids, but he damn well would want to keep them away from this life as much as he could. “Anyway,” Dean says, piling bacon on his burger before passing the dish to Cas. “No fuss, no muss. Just the smell of smoke to wash out of our clothes and a need to restock the salt supply.”

“We got some salt,” Cas says, frowning at his burger as he picks it up. “At the store. Also, coffee.”

“Hunter essentials,” Dean says fondly. “Thanks, Cas.”

Cas nods at him before taking a bite of his burger, and Dean watches his face as he bites into it; he’s not sure when this fascination with watching Cas taste things started, but it happens each and every time Cas sits down to eat with them. Dean doesn’t know if Cas has noticed, but Sam has for sure, and his mom definitely keeps shooting him looks whenever she catches him. It’s—Cas complained about food tasting like molecules to Sam, but he stills eats, even enjoys it as far as Dean can tell, and it feels like another bit of the Cas puzzle.

As much as Dean knows about Cas, sometimes he thinks he’s never gonna know everything, that parts of Cas will always be unknowable, and Dean doesn’t know how to feel about that. Dean can’t help but think that he should know everything about Cas, because Cas sure as hell knows most everything about Dean, knows more than Dean would ever want anyone to know. He’s stuck around, though, and Dean will never know what to make of that.

“Dean,” Cas says, jerking Dean out his his thoughts. “Are you going to eat?”

“Huh? Yeah, yeah. I’m eating.”

*

Dean’s up to his elbows in suds, and he’s trying real hard not to listen to the conversation Cas is having with Mary because—it’s not that Dean—shaking his head, Dean scrubs harder at the grill pan.

“—want to meet anyone, Cas?” Mary asks as she dries a plate.

“I’m happy here,” Cas says, and Dean tries not to smile down at the suds at those words.

“The girl in the coffee shop liked you,” Mary says and, wait, what. Dean’s hands still without even thinking about it and he glances to his left, watching Cas’ face.

“I don’t think she—”

“She would,” Mary says, touching Cas’ elbow gently. “Castiel, there’s nothing wrong with wanting to meet other people.”

“Meeting other people tends to get me killed,” Cas says.

Dean abandons the grill pan for the moment, and picks up a glass, hoping that Cas’ comment is gonna bring an end to this discussion, but his mom carries on and—Dean loves her, he can’t even express how happy he is to have her back, but her trying to set Cas up with people isn’t something he wants to deal with.

“We could go to the coffee shop tomorrow,” Mary says, nudging Cas with her elbow. “If you want to talk to her then—”

Dean doesn’t mean to break the glass in the sink, he really doesn’t, but it happens and then suddenly there’s a glass shard slicing through his skin. “Fuck,” he says under his breath, yanking his hand out of the water, staring at the thin line of blood on his palm.

“Dean?” Cas grabs Dean’s wrist and holds on tightly. “What happened?”

“Little too rough with the glass, I guess,” Dean says, eyes flitting over where Cas’ fingers are wrapped around his wrist. “Cas, I—”

“Hold on.” Cas touches the cut with his other hand, and it’s like it was never there, the blood and stinging pain vanishing as quickly as it happened. “Better?”

“Yeah, Cas. S’better.” Dean looks up, meeting Cas’ eyes; Cas’ fingers are still holding onto Dean’s wrist, his thumb brushing over Dean’s skin so softly and Dean can’t look away from Cas, doesn’t want to look away, but if Cas is meeting girls in coffee shops then—. “I should drain the water,” Dean says, tugging his arm away from Cas.

“Oh,” Cas says, taking a step back, his hands dropping to his sides. “Yes, of course.”

Dean swallows and turns back to the sink, pulling the plug out and watching the water drain away, a little swirl of his blood in there. “Cas could you—”

“He’s gone,” Mary says, handing him the newspaper he was about to ask for.

“Oh. Okay,” Dean says a little gruffly, putting the newspaper on the side and placing the broken glass shards on it. “Thanks, mom.”

“Dean, do you—” Mary places her hand on his shoulder and it makes Dean want to curl up in a ball because this isn’t _fair_. He wants Cas to have whatever he wants, even if what he wants is a life away from Dean, away from this messy lifestyle, but if Cas does leave, it’ll be like having his heart ripped out.

“Mom, I can’t—”

“Oh kiddo,” she says, the words coming out in a sigh. “Do you—”

“Seriously, mom, not talking about this. Not ever.”

She squeezes his shoulder once, her fingers trailing over his neck, and it’s a small comfort, but it’s something he never thought he’d have again. “Go talk to him,” she says. “I’ll finish cleaning.”

*

The problem with looking for Cas is that Dean doesn’t know exactly where he’s gone; he can hazard a few guesses, but he eventually just goes from room to room, hitting up all the likely places. He stumbles across Sam in the library and when he asks if Cas is there, Sam gives him a look that makes Dean feel like an idiot. After checking almost the entire bunker, Dean heads outside to the small patch of garden that Cas and Mary have been working on. It’s a cool night, and Dean tugs the ends of his sleeves over his hands as he looks around, finally spotting Cas sitting on the ground, hoodie pulled up over his head like a goddamn teenager, and Dean—he waits. Maybe it’s fucking creepy that he’s watching Cas like this, but if there’s one thing Dean knows, it’s that Cas is always aware of when Dean is near.

“I know you’re there,” Cas says a moment later, proving Dean’s theory.

“Yeah.” Dean hesitates before walking over slowly, sitting down next to Cas on the ground. “I’m sorry,” he says.

“For what?”

“I—I didn’t mean to make you leave.”

“You didn’t need me in there anymore,” Cas says quietly. “You made that clear.”

“Cas, come on, I—”

“I don’t need your pity, Dean. I’m perfectly capable of surviving by myself, I can make other friends.”

Dean exhales. “Yeah. Mom said you met a girl.” He tries so hard to keep the bitterness out of his voice, and judging by the look Cas shoots him, he hasn’t succeeded at all. “What?”

“Am I not allowed to have friends?”

“Cas, I—of course you are,” Dean says, ducking his head, his fingers rubbing against his jeans. “I didn’t mean anything, I—”

“I find that you rarely say things you don’t mean, even in jest.”

And there it is, the reminder that no one knows Dean as well as Cas knows him, and Dean knows it’s fucking selfish to want to keep him to himself; to not want Cas to leave and meet other people, but he can’t help it. He needs Cas, _wants_ Cas so desperately he can almost taste it, and Dean is almost sure that all he would have to do is say something and Cas would—. “Cas, I—do you _want_ to go for coffee with that girl?”

“I enjoy meeting people.”

“Don’t play stupid, Cas, you know what I’m asking.”

There’s a sigh from Cas, and then he’s pushing his hood down, rubbing a hand over his face. “Dean, I thought it was obvious that there’s only one person I would like to ‘go for coffee’ with.” Cas raises his hands to make the air quotes, and Dean wants nothing more than to kiss him in this moment.

“Oh,” he says instead, his mouth parted dumbly as he looks at Cas. “Okay.”

“I mean you, Dean,” Cas says, a hint of impatience in his voice.

“Yeah, no, I got that, Cas.” Before he can rethink his actions, Dean grabs Cas’ hand and threads their fingers together. It’s such an innocent act, barely anything in the grand scheme of things, but Dean’s heart is pounding like he’s run a marathon; he’s probably holding on too tight, but Cas’ palm is warm against his, and after a moment there’s a soft squeeze from Cas that calms the butterflies in Dean’s stomach.

Their entwined hands rest on Dean’s thigh, and he glances down, the corners of his mouth tugging up because this is—this is _Cas_ and it’s him, and it’s Dean letting himself go for something he’s wanted since before he even realised what this could be. It’s always been Cas, he knows that, even when they weren’t anywhere close to having this, Cas is the person Dean wanted by his side, the person he would’ve burned the world down to have saved.

“It’s getting late,” Cas says, breaking the comfortable silence that’s been resting between them.

“I guess.” Dean really has no idea how much time has passed since he came out here, he’s not cold, not with Cas pressed up against his side as they hold hands, and he’s terrified that going back inside the bunker means losing this. “Cas, what—” he breaks off, shaking his head. “You want this, right? You and me, the whole thing?”

“Dean, in all my years watching the world, in my years of being on earth, there has never been anything or anyone I have wanted more than you.”

Dean turns his head so fast he thinks he might’ve given himself whiplash, and he leans in, pressing his lips against Cas’ skin, barely grazing the corner of Cas’ mouth. Resting his forehead against Cas’ temple, Dean lets out a shaky breath. “I’m glad you’re here, Cas,” he says, squeezing Cas’ hand. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For being the one to save me.”


End file.
